


I Can't Believe I'm In Love with the Sentient Concept of Math!

by mayafeyy



Category: Blaseball (Video Game)
Genre: Awkward Romance, Fluff, Houston Spies (Blaseball Team), Other, do people really write rpf about the astros? why do ao3 tag predictions make me see this shit, good morning fitzmath nation, son scotch does shenanigans, theyre so STUPID and in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:27:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27420418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayafeyy/pseuds/mayafeyy
Summary: Fitzgerald Blackburn's bonding breakfast with Son Scotch leads to Son uncovering Fitz' secret crush on Math, and Son decides to use this information in the best way they possibly can.(I don't know how to write summaries.)
Relationships: Math Velazquez/Fitzgerald Blackburn
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	I Can't Believe I'm In Love with the Sentient Concept of Math!

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first non-homestuck fic ive written in like 2 years, go easy on me please. also, fitz uses rotating pronouns but for the sake of readability i used they/them for them. i mostly use they/them for son, but theres a few places where i used he to avoid pronoun confusion, since son uses they/he.

“I’ll have a stack of chocolate chip pancakes, please!” Son says, smiling brightly at the waiter, who scrawls something down in their little notepad, confirms the order, and walks away. “Wait, that’s okay, right? I forgot to ask.” 

They turn and look at Fitzgerald Blackburn, who is sitting in the booth across from them. Fitz nods. “It wouldn’t be a proper parent-son breakfast without chocolate chip pancakes, now, would it?” They give him a fond smile. Son is such a sweet, energetic, thoughtful kid, and at moments like these, Fitz couldn’t feel more grateful. 

After a long sip of coffee, they say “So, how has school been? Being a third grader is a pretty big deal, or so I’ve heard.” They’ve never been the best at this kind of talk, but it’s easy with Son - just ask them a question and they’ll always remember that there’s a story they wanted to tell you. Predictably, they start telling Fitz all about some convoluted playground drama, legs swinging excitedly as they go on and on. Fitz leans back into the red cushion of the booth and listens to Son’s tale. 

“And then the next day, we were doing math and Aiden started throwing erasers at me! I was trying to do my work but I couldn’t pay attention because we were doing mult-multiplicica-multiplication, and we just started learning it the other day so I really needed to focus but stupid Aiden wouldn’t stop bothering me! He kept saying that since I play Blaseball I should be able to catch them, which made no sense, but he wouldn’t listen to me, and then the teacher thought I was the one who was talking and sent me outside and gave me extra math problems!”

Fitz’ brow furrows. Who the hell is this Aiden kid, they wonder, and what does he have against their dear Son Scotch? It must be that they’re a blaseball player, they reason. Aiden must be jealous of all the attention that comes from being Son. They hope this isn’t too common of an occurrence for the kid, though. A few seconds pass before they realize that they forgot to say something, and Son has finished their story. “Well, that’s not good. Maybe I should have a word with your teacher, then.” 

Son shakes their head. “No, it’s fine, I like math anyway, so it was no big deal! I know you might not believe that I like math class because everyone at school says it’s boring, but I kind of love it, actually.”

“I love Math, too,” says Fitzgerald. The phrase comes out of their mouth before they even realize they had thought it, and they stiffen slightly. Their face heats up, and they are very thankful for their status as a sentient shadow being, because if they were human they would have gone beet red. It’s lucky, they think, that Son has no way of knowing they were talking about their teammate instead of the subject. After all, it’s not as if capitalization comes across in spoken English - 

“Oooooo, really?” Son asks, legs kicking back and forth underneath the table. They have a curious, amused smile on their face. “Do you have a cruuuuush?”

Fitz sets their coffee down and laughs. Underneath the warmth they feel for their kid, their chest tightens with nervousness. “Son, you know very well that I meant the subject.” 

“Haha, yeah, I know,” says Son, and Fitz has to hold themself back from sighing in relief.

A few minutes later, the waiter returns with their meal - a tall stack of pancakes for Son, and Fitz’ order of a small Belgian waffle. By the time they’ve unwrapped their silverware and placed their napkin on their lap, Son is shoveling huge bites of pancake into his mouth like this is the first meal they’ve had in days. Normally, they would chide them and remind them of their manners, but during special bonding breakfast, they can’t bring themself to scold them. Instead, they gently remind them not to choke and begin carefully cutting their waffle. 

When Son’s around halfway done with his pancakes, they pause. “Hey, Fitz, if you were trapped on a deserted island with one other person, which person would you pick? NaN asked me that yesterday, and I think it’s a good question.” 

“Oh? That is a good question. But before I answer, tell me who you picked! I’m curious.”

Son washes down more pancake with a sip of water and then speaks. “I chose Sosa! Because - well, I can’t tell you why because it’s kind of a secret, but I do have a reason, and it’s a really cool reason!” 

“It’s...a secret? About Sosa?” Fitz tilts their head and squints slightly. “Hm. I guess there is more to him than I am aware of, then.” 

“I’m not gonna tell you! A good spy keeps all their friends’ secrets!”

“Fair enough, I suppose.” 

“Ok, so, what’s your answer? Who would be your deserted island buddy?” 

Fitz takes a contemplative bite of their waffle. It’s good - they must admit Son has excellent taste in breakfast restaurants, and ponders the question. Well, they pretend to ponder it - they hate to admit it, but they know they’d pick Math in a heartbeat, and not for strategic reasons. They can’t just say that, but they don’t want to lie to their son, either, so they let a few awkward seconds pass before replying. “Math, if I had to choose. Math’s intelligence and resourcefulness would be useful in such a situation, and -” 

“Oh, right!” Son’s eyes light up. “And you looooooooove Math!” 

For a moment, Fitz worries that they have turned from smoke to fire as they feel themself burn up with embarrassment. “I - Son - regardless of my feelings for Math, I simply...believe Math to be the best choice.” It isn’t until Son gasps that Fitzgerald realizes what they just said, and they’re suddenly struck with a strong desire to tape their stupid, traitor mouth shut. It’s too late for that, though, because Son heard exactly what they said. 

“I knew it! I knew it, I knew it, I knew it!” He singsongs, looking straight at them. “You totally have a crush on Math!” 

Fitz sighs. “You really are growing up to be a skilled spy, Son. I simply can’t keep secrets from you anymore. Please do, um, keep this on the down-low. Consider it classified information, if you will?”

Son nods again, quicker this time, and Fitz feels the anxiety in their chest begin to fizzle out until Son says, “Don’t worry! I have a plan,” and returns to eating their breakfast. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Math is really the only one who shows up at base on weekends, but Math likes to check Math’s locker for new assignments. Being a spy is a 24/7 job, after all, and Math has a reputation to uphold. Today, though, when Math goes to check, there are no cream-colored folders in Math’s locker. Instead, there is a folded piece of paper labeled “TO: MATH VALASKEZ”. Math chuckles. A letter from Son is always a pleasant surprise, even if they seem to have trouble with Math’s name. When Math unfolds the paper, a puff of loose glitter spills onto Math’s trench coat, and Math lets out a small sound of confusion as the contents of the letter come into focus. On one half of the paper, Son has drawn Math and Math’s dear friend Fitzgerald in marker. The stick figures seem to be holding hands and smiling wide, surrounded by glitter-glue hearts. Two arrows label them: when Math notices Fitzgerald has been labelled “ME”, the pieces start to fit together in Math’s mind. The other half of the page contains a barely-legible message. 

“DEAR MATH,  
I THINK THAT YOU ARE REELLY COOL AND I AM IN LOVE WITH YOU. WE SHOULD START DATEING! MAY BE WE CAN GO TO THE MATH STORE ON A DATE. THAT SEAMS LIKE A PLACE THAT YOU WOULD WANT TO GO TO. ANY WAY YOU ARE REELLY AWSOME AND ALSO I THINK YOU ARE HOT. PLEASE TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK ABOUT THIS IDEA. I HOPE YOU SAY YES CAUSE I HAVE A CRUSH ON YOU.  
LOVE,  
FITSJERAL  
PS ONE DAY WE CAN GET MARRYED!!!” 

After a few moments of utter shock and amusement, Math is overcome with love for both Fitzgerald and Son. It wraps around Math like a fluffy blanket, and the more Math thinks about it, the more Math likes the idea of going on a date to the math store (whatever the hell that is) and getting married, and Math looks back at the drawing and notices a rhinestone sticker on Blackburn’s left hand, helpfully captioned “WEDING RING”, and then Math is folded over laughing and reaching for Math’s cell phone. Somehow managing to suppress Math’s laughter enough to speak, Math calls Fitzgerald. 

“Fitzgerald, you -” Math erupts in another fit of giggles before gasping for air. “Meet me at base, I need to show you something.” Then, in order to prevent spoiling the surprise, Math hangs up abruptly and returns to laughing. A few minutes later, rapid footsteps echo down the hall and Fitzgerald throws open the door, looking out of breath. Math notices the worried crease in their brow and feels a pang of guilt. Maybe Math should have explained the situation a little more, so that they knew not to worry - after all, Fitzgerald Blackburn was quite the overthinker. Math walks up to them quickly and, without a single word, presents the letter. Immediately, Fitzgerald’s eyes go wide as saucers. 

“Oh my God,” they say, massaging their temples. They seem to reread the letter several times, and Math can only imagine the embarrassment sinking in their gut, so Math breaks the heavy silence in the room. 

“So, Fitzgerald, I have...several questions.” 

“Oh my God,” they say again. “I’m so sorry, I guess Son decided to take matters into their own hands. I never wanted you to learn the, um, extent of my feelings.”

“Fitzgerald.” says Math, a musical lilt in Math’s words. “I know how you feel about me. It’s obvious. I figured that my constant flirting was similarly obvious.”

Fitzgerald’s eyes widen further at this, and a flutter stirs in Math’s gut. 

“Oh.” 

“Well?” Math places a hand on their shoulder. “Are you free this evening for a date at the math store?” At this, Fitzgerald relaxes visibly and smiles. 

“Of course, but -” They look at the paper and snort. “What even is a math store, anyway?”

“I thought you knew!” Math shouts, and the two of them erupt in laughter, holding each other tightly. After a moment, it begins to fade, until Math hears Fitzgerald mutter “...the math store” and starts absolutely losing it all over again until Math feels like Math’s sides will burst. Eventually, they both calm down, but Fitzgerald continues leaning on Math, and Math feels a giddy sense of warmth. 

“You know,” says Fitz, “maybe we should go out to dinner instead?” 

Math nods. “That would be lovely, Fitzgerald.”

**Author's Note:**

> anyway this ship is amazing and i think more people who arent the spies should know about it.


End file.
